A reason to hope.
Sometimes all it takes is the smallest spark to ignite a fire that can’t be put out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The next morning, I pack my bags in the hotel room, double-checking my flight information.I’m going home.Returning to a normal I no longer recognize, returning asapersonI no longer recognize.
After dinner last night, Hayden came back to my hotel room and removed Ralston’s software from my laptop. She triple-checked to make sure there are no traces of her left on my hard drive, but I’m still paranoid enough that I’ll be getting a new laptop as soon as I’m home. I changed all my important passwords from my phone while she worked.
We also updated a few things on HEAR US ROAR while she was here. The site is still up and steadily filling with new stories. She fixed a few bugs in my security settings—or something like that—and updated the layout. She added tags, so people can search for posts based on universities, professors’ names, and class years.
With just a few tweaks, it’s infinitely better, and I’m thankful for it. Especially as news stations and celebrities begin to talk about it more often. As more people use it to call out and take down their personal dragons.
Even if this was always about Ralston for me, it was about all of it for someone else. We’re not so different, Ralston and I. When it comes down to it, we both want to better the world. We just have different ideas about how to do that.
Scrolling through social media, you can’t miss the highlights from last night’s awards ceremony. Videos and photos, people talking about their experience while eating breakfast in their kitchens.
Hashtags trend on both sides. For every#JusticeforRalston,#CancelCultureWitchHunt, and#ThisIsWhyWomenDontSucceed,there’s a#IStandWithTheRalstonVictims,#YourStoriesMatter, or#BelieveWomen.
The voices are as divided as they ever were. Some rally behind us. Others still root for Ralston. People share stories, raise questions, and call for real accountability. A few accounts post videos burning her books. Others share her TED Talks pleading for people to listen and understand Ralston could never do the things she’s being accused of.
Many, many people call the anonymous women names, accuse us of being jealous, and blame the whole thing on internalized misogyny.
Dr. Ralston is brilliant. A freaking pioneer. Anyone who tries to tear her down is just jealous.
I’m so thankful I grew up in a world where Althea Ralston exists.
@AltheaRalston thank you for fighting for me even before I was born!
Girl, she made mistakes, sure. But she’s a woman in a man’s world. Cut her some slack.
Couldn’t care less what she’s accused of. I’m forever a Dr. Ralston girlie. She’s a victim of professional jealousy and gossip. Be so fucking for real right now. This ain’t high school.
This is officially an Althea Ralston stan account until further notice.
Shame on Havenport University! Reinstate Dr. Ralston or watch our daughters boycott your shitty school.
Unsurprisingly, Ralston’s defenders are loud and organized. By noon, there are half a dozen protests planned. There are social media groups. Her podcast reaches number one, and her books skyrocket on the charts.
Her detractors feel…scattered. Isolated. Even online, we’re silenced. The posts I see defending us have very few comments or likes, while the onesdefending herseem to go viral in an instant.
The university’s statement is echoed everywhere, and it quickly becomes clear that most people won’t take anyone’s word for it but Ralston’s. If she never admits to wrongdoing, then no wrongdoing was done.
And Havenport? They’re stillwishing her well.
That’s the part that stings. This isn’t justice—it isn’t because they believe us. Ralston wasn’t punished for what she’s done. She was removed because she became a liability.
Once my bags are packed, and I’ve checked out of the hotel, I have a few hours to kill before my Uber is scheduled to pick meup. I leave my bags with the woman at the front desk and step outside, heading toward Havenport for what I know will be the last time. Even if I had a reason to return, something tells me it will always be a little too painful, that the memories will always sting.
But still, I can’t resist saying goodbye.
Campus feels different without Ralston. Quiet. Smaller somehow.
The Ralston Week banners have all been removed, but her new plaque is still there on the Equity Walk and I notice a few random flyers from her protest yesterday dragging along the sidewalk in the breeze.
Even gone, she’s still here.
Campus security passes me without incident, though I don’t know if they’re actually allowing me to be here or if they’re just distracted.
